


50 Shades of Paige

by fiestyfirefly



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Angst, BDSM, F/F, Love, sub/dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiestyfirefly/pseuds/fiestyfirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've read 50 Shades of Grey by E.L. James and thought that it could work with Paige and Emily. If any of you have read the book you know what to expect, those who have not... well your in for a ride. Emily is a 21 year old student sent at short notice to interview Paige McCullers a wealthy entrepreneur. Emily's life is about to change...</p>
            </blockquote>





	50 Shades of Paige

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair - it just won’t behave and damn Hanna Marin for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not seep with it wet.I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the dark-haired girl with brown eyes and give up. My only option is to retrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi-presentable.

Hanna is my roommate, and she has chose today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega business tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have volunteered. I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finance and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no - today I have to drive a hundred and twenty-five miles to L.A in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of McCullers Enterprise Inc. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, her time is extraordinarily precious - much more precious than mine - but she has granted Hanna an interview a real coup, she tells me, damn her extracurricular activities. 

Hanna is huddled on the couch in the living room.

“Em, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off, please.” Hanna begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gorgeous, short blonde hair in place and blue eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pant of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go, Hanna. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?”

“Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about her.” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my ringing panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Hanna, would I do this.

“I will. Good luck. And thanks, Em - as usual you’re my lifesaver.”

Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Hanna talk me into this. But then Hanna could talk anyone into anything. She’ll make an exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful - and she’s my dearest, dearest friend.

The roads are clear as I set off from San Diego toward L.A. It’s early and I don’t have to be in L.A until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Hanna’s lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Ms McCuller’s global enterprise. It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy, with McCuller’s House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It’s a quarter to two when I arrived, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous and frankly intimidating - glass, steel and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

“I’m here to see Ms McCullers. Emily Fields for Paige McCullers.”

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Fields” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Hanna’s formal blazer’s rather than wear my navy blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible black knee-length boots and a blue sweeter. For Me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ears as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me.

“Miss Marin is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Fields. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes. I inwardly sign. Thanking her, I walk over to the back elevator past two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open and I’m in another large lobby - again all glass, steel and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccable in black and white that rises to greet me.

“Miss Fields, could you wait here please?” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs. Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the L.A Skyline that looks out through the city. It’s a stunning Vista and I’m momentarily paralysed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel and go through them, inwardly cursing Hanna for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this woman I’m about to interview. She could be ninety or she could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of group discussions where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting, twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Fields. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess McCullers is in her forties: fit, tanned, and blonde to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like a blonde-haired Step-ford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Miss Fields?” the latest blonde asks.

“Yes” I croak and clear my mind. “Yes” There that sounded more confident.

“Ms McCullers will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?”

“Oh please” I struggle out of the jacket.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Um-no.” Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water, Thank you.” I murmur.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss Field’s a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer. 

“My apologies, Miss Fields, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Ms McCullers will be another five minutes.”

Olivia returns with a glass of water.

“Here you go, Miss Fields.”

“Thank you”

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continued their work.

Perhaps Ms McCullers insists on all her employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive dark haired man exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and say’s through the door. “Golf, this week Champ.”

“I didn’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me!

“Good afternoon, Ladies.” He says as he departs through the sliding door.

“Ms McCullers will see you now, Miss Fields. Do go through.” Blonde number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock - just go in.” She smiles kindly.  
______________________________________________________________________________

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet and falling head first into the office. Double crap - me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Ms McCullers office and gentle hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Holy cow - she’s so young.

“Miss Marin.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand to me once I’m upright. “I’m Paige McCullers. Are you alright? Would you like to sit?”

So young - and attractive, very attractive. She’s tall and slim and it’s evidence from the way her clothes cling to her body she definitely works out. She’s dressed in a grey pant suit, with a white blouse and a loose black tie around her neck. The ensemble would look masculine on most but she looks like she just walked off a catwalk somewhere. This outfit along with straight dark copper coloured hair and intense bright green eyes momentarily still my voice in my throat.

“Um, Actually” I finally mutter. If this woman is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in hers and we shake. Our finger’s touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed.I must be a state. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

“Miss Marin is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Ms McCullers.” 

“And you are?” Her voice is warm, possibly amused, but it is difficult to tell from her impassive expression. She looks mildly interested but above all, polite.

“Emily Fields. I’m studying English Literature with Hanna, Um Miss Maris at USF.”

“I see”, she says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in her expressions, but I’m not sure. “Would you like to sit?” She waves me toward a white leather-buttoned L-shaped couch.

Her office is way too big for just one woman. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white - ceiling, floors and walls, except on the wall by the door where a mosaic of small paintings hand, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite - a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

“A local artist. Toby Cavanagh” says McCullers when she catches my gaze.

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary” I murmur distracted both by her and the paintings. She cocks her head to one side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more with you Miss Fields” she replies her voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personally of the Goddess who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts and retrieve Hanna’s questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Ms McCullers says nothing, waiting patiently - I hope - as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at her, she’s watching me, one hand relaxed in her lap and the other cupping her chin and trailing her polished index finger across her lips. I think she's trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Fields.” she says.

“Do you mind if I record your answers?” mumbles hesitantly from my voice. What if she says no?

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder - you ask me now?”

I flush. She’s teasing me? I hope. I blink at her, unsure what to say, and I think she takes pity on me because she relents. “No I don’t mind”.

“Did Hanna, I mean Miss Marin explain what the interview was for?” I ask.

“Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year’s graduation ceremony.”

Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily preoccupied by the thought that someone not much older than me - okay maybe 4 years or so, and okay, mega-successful, but still is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

“Good” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Ms McCullers.” I smooth a stray lock of hair being my ear.

“I thought you might” she says deadpan. She’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realisation and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at her. Her smile is rueful, but she looks vaguely disappointed.

“Business is all about people, Miss Fields and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t what inspires them and how to incentivise them. I employ an exceptional team and I reward them well”. She pauses and fixes me with her stare. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail.I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot an nurture a good solid idea and good people the bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn't on Hanna’s list - but she’s so arrogant. Her eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Fields. The harder I work, the more lucky I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.”

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh I exercise control in all things, Miss Fields.” she says without a trace of humour in her smile. I look at her, and she holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.


End file.
